Choppy Water
by thewayigetby
Summary: Spandex-clad rower, Edward meets his match in fiery coxswain, Bella. One-shot with innuendo and saucy talk.


The crackling voice of our coxswain echoed through the skull of the boat as we approached the last five hundred meters of today's practice.

"Focus ten on legs in two. One…Two." The weight of the boat lightened as each stroke became more forceful, my team's precise synchronization helping with the boat's balance.

"Focus on your legs. Slow slide and push… Press set. Press set. Three…Four…Five…press and set…Seven…Strong legs! Nine…Ten…Paddle in two. One…Two."

In perfect unison, our stroke rate dropped from thirty-six to an easy twenty-four. The pressure on my blade was overwhelming, wearing heavily on my overworked and tight muscles. I kept rowing, though, mechanically and languidly moving my blade through the choppy water while choking in gulps of air and awaiting the next instruction.

I was incredibly thankful that this row was ending and our boathouse was in view. My legs burned: the lactic acid from the intense two-hour practice building up in my cramped traps and tense quads. It felt like toxins were churning in my bloodstream, quickly dissolving all my energy. Our technique-obsessed coach, Carlisle, led the grueling practice, yelling critiques on blade alignment and posture through his megaphone. Not one for praise, he worked us hard to keep the boat from getting cocky and lazy.

Over the past three years, I had gotten used to the constant barrage of orders. Today, however, I wanted to shove that megaphone so far down his throat, past his esophagus and embed it into the lining of his stomach. Yesterday, Carlisle had unexpectedly replaced our coxswain, Seth, with some expendable member of the varsity woman's team, yet he still expected us to obey her every word at five in the morning. He also expected us to win this Saturday.

This weekend's regatta was in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was our first away race against crews we would be meeting again at Nationals. It was important to set the bar high, and build our confidence and trust as a boat. A hard task when the most important member of our team, our coxswain, was relatively unknown. A complete stranger was going to be directing a volatile boat of testosterone-filled egomaniacs.

"Wain 'nuff, in two. One...Two." All eight of us balanced the boat; oars parallel to the water as we glided for several meters before the next command, "Hold water!" Oars slapped the choppy surface and blades tilted and submerged, slowing the boat as the current took us lazily towards the dock.

"Stern pair, one stroke," she demanded. My pair partner, Jacob, and I moved up the slide, arms extended and took one long, but gentle stroke to guide us home.

"Arms only, seven-seat," she said next, correcting the angle. I pushed my arms out straight, dunking the blade and pulling in.

"Catch the dock." We glided gently next to the dock, each rower catching and palming it. "Unstrap yourself gentlemen." I happily unlaced my feet from the attached shoes in the boat, throwing my sweaty and discarded sweatshirt along with my empty nalgene onto the dock.

I could not wait to get the fuck out of this boat.

"Step out in two. One…Two." I jumped out, stretching my arms and legs before loosening the oarlock and carrying my oar inside. When I returned, the coxswain had distributed everyone's shoes and was waiting rather impatiently, a hand resting on her hip like a sullen teenager.

"Hands on!" The eight of us distributed ourselves to the two ends, our hands grasping both edges of the boat.

"Up over heads!" Effortlessly, we lifted the boat up and out of the water, swinging it upside down and over our heads, our arms fully extended.

"Split to shoulders!" We split evenly to both sides, lowering the shell to rest the weight on our shoulders, while we walked up the dock and into the boathouse.

"Slide into the rack in two. One…Two…Watch the riggers. Slide in-house, one inch." Our coxswain busied about, lining up the boat so that none of the riggers were resting on the supporting beams of our storage space.

"Okay, lower it down, slowly…" She reminded us, even though we did this every fucking day.

"Great! Good practice men." She smiled brightly and began striping off the bulky layers of sweatshirts and jackets she wore to keep warm in the chilly Ithaca mornings.

I checked my watch. I had time for a shower before my eight o'clock class if Carlisle let us go in the next five minutes. If I didn't wash my hair, I could grab breakfast. It was all about priorities.

"Gather round." Carlisle stood in front of the exit, a grim expression pulling at his pale skin and I anticipated a stern lecture about our sloppy sprints, but was surprised when he spoke of Seth.

"It has come to my attention that many of you are questioning my choices as your coach. I realize replacing Seth seemed sudden, but I'm asking you all to trust me on this. Seth is a great leader, but Bella can bring you gold. Just trust her." Carlisle sounded like he was begging us all.

He glanced pointedly in my direction and I ducked my head, knowing I was the one that actively and verbally disagreed with his latest coaching decision. As captain, it was my duty to let Carlisle know what I thought of his untimely actions and how badly it could affect team morale.

Bella stood awkwardly beside Carlisle as she chimed in, "I know some of my commands seem foreign to you all, so if you have any suggestions…"

Jacob raised his hand and we all groaned, anticipating an innuendo-laden comment and he didn't disappoint. "Seth had this one command that took us through the first and second five hundred. We called it our 'thrust twenty.' He'd yell things like, 'push it, harder, harder, faster—'"

"That's enough, Jacob," Carlisle reprimanded.

"Yeah, man, she's already got to stare at your busted face all damn practice, don't make her uncomfortable," Emmett joked, winking at Bella.

"As I was saying," Carlisle began, "I want you all to treat Bella with respect, just like any other teammate. Listen to her; she brings a lot of experience. Okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, "Anyways, today's practice was sub-par. I wasn't happy with the starts. Mike and Tyler, you two need to anticipate, you're always a fraction too late. It looked choppy and I'm sure it didn't feel good to any of you. We need to hit that forty-two on the start ten. Do you all agree?"

There were nods and murmurs amongst the eight of us.

"Okay, you all look dead tired, get some good rest tonight. There's optional weight lifting tonight at eight. If you're not there, I'll see you all tomorrow at five. Hands in, Big Red in two! One! Two!" Our chorus of yells echoed in the empty boathouse and everyone scattered, collecting stripped clothing and duffel bags. Bella looked uncomfortable, her mouth opening and closing before she gathered her pile of layers and disappeared into the bathroom.

"Edward," Carlisle summoned, as I slowly walked over. I knew what he wanted to say and I wasn't looking forward to it. "Do you still feel the same way after today's practice?"

"Yes, sir." Something about Carlisle always made me think of my father, emotionless and only congratulatory when I surpassed expectations. That didn't happen very often.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Bella comes highly recommended from the woman's team—"

"It's just so sudden, Carlisle," I interrupted. "What was wrong with Seth? He's a great coxswain and we've been practicing with him for months. We just met Bella for the first time yesterday! We're facing Harvard this weekend. We need to be united as a team to win."

"That's enough! Seth was not performing well enough for all of you. You need someone tougher, someone that will push you all. Seth came to me because he couldn't handle it, he asked to step down."

"How do you know Bella is good enough? We can't even get our starts together. We've never had a problem with them before!"

"Don't blame her for the team's inadequacies." That one burnt.

I took a deep breath to keep my anger in check. "I don't know why you bothered to ask my opinion then."

"Because as captain you should be working to motivate your crew and help them work together, that includes Bella. If you can't accept her as your coxswain, you're not doing your job and your teammates will see that. And you're right, if you aren't harmonized as a boat, if you can't trust her, you won't win this weekend." He walked away, slamming the door to his office behind him.

"Thanks for the bout of confidence, Coach." I mumbled to no one in particular. He was such a fucking asshole sometimes.

I picked up my duffle bag and watched as Bella scurried out of the women's bathroom, brushing by me to the exit. She didn't say anything and I wondered how much of that conversation she heard. I didn't know whether to feel guilty or glad. If she knew she was unwelcome, maybe she'd tell Carlisle to give Seth his position back. It would be one less thing for me to worry about this weekend.

Stepping out of the boathouse, I checked my watch again. Quarter to eight. I decided to choose breakfast over the shower.

"Holy shit!" I yelled at the unexpected chill. My body temperature had cooled down since practice and I was only wearing my red and white spandex uni and Birks. It was April, but unfortunately that didn't equate to spring weather in Ithaca. Last week we rowed through a thin layer of ice, Carlisle yelling at us to ignore the sickening crack of ice breaking against the thin shell of our boat.

"Cullen! Ride?" Emmett offered from inside his Bronco. Emmett was our four-seat, the muscle and brawn anchoring the two ends of the boat. He dwarfed the rest of the team in sheer bulk, compensating for his lack of height. He looked more like a football player than a rower.

For fun, two weeks ago, I bet that he couldn't break an oar in half during practice. The fiberglass oar really didn't stand a chance and shattered during a power ten, nearly flinging him from the boat. I had never been happier to lose.

Hopping into the passenger seat, I was hit with a blast of heat and a large yawn ripped the corners of my chapped lips. "These early mornings are totally fucking with me," I admitted while scratching my head. "I can't keep waking up at four in the morning."

"Dude, whatever, you never sleep anyways."

It was true. Between crew practice at the ass crack of dawn, eighteen credits of pre-med undergrad studies during the day, and the occasional weight lifting session in the evening, I'd be lucky to catch three or four hours a night. A steady diet of black coffee keeps me alive, and my roommate, Jasper, repeatedly saves me from malnutrition.

"How do you like Bella?" he asked, adjusting the radio to look for anything halfway decent playing in the middle of upstate New York.

"She's fine, but her performance could be a fluke. I get that Carlisle seat-raced her and Seth, but I don't like it," I summarized my grievances, my annoyance at Carlisle still heavy on my mind.

Bella was tall, probably around 5'10", which was unusual, normally coxswains were five foot nothing. We needed someone small and compact, weighing exactly a buck thirty, no more and no less. Coxswains were dead weight, steering us to the finish line with a small rudder and a microphone. They were our eyes, our coach, our only companion for those painfully long six minutes, which was why we needed someone familiar, someone who could motivate us and push us to work harder. We needed Seth back.

"She used to row you know. She stroked the varsity lightweight in the fall," Emmett said.

"I don't remember her. Why is she coxing now?"

"She fucked up her back, I think. I remember Rosie talking about her teammate having stress fractures or something."

"Shit." Injuries were fairly common on the crew team. We practiced long hours and there was never an off-season. All you could do was hope you'd last the spring racing season with just a pulled groin or arthritis in your inboard wrist and nothing potentially season-ending.

"She's fucking hot."

I shrugged noncommittally. I hadn't been paying attention to what she looked like, just that she was unwelcome.

"When she runs the press set ten; that shit goes straight to my head. Her fucking voice in the morning is pure sex," Emmett continued.

"It's the shitty cox box, not her. That thing is ten years old."

"I don't care. Plus you know how I like a bossy woman." He flashed me his pearly whites and I couldn't help but laugh. He did like them sassy. But all of his talk of Bella was just for show.

Whether or not he'd admit it, Emmett has been attached since our sophomore year when, then freshman, Rosalie joined the crew team. She was a walk-on with zero experience, which normally didn't happen at a Division I school. Most of us were recruited, but Rosalie was meant to row. She was taller than Emmett at an impressive six foot one and she had a seat in the varsity A boat ever since. She has also managed to tame Emmett without even knowing it. For nearly three years, he had been lusting after her, and not even Bella and her sexy commands would make him forget that.

We pulled up in front of my house and I jumped out, telling him I'd see him later for weight lifting. I had five minutes until class. I busted through the front door, running to my room to pull on sweats and a t-shirt before I grabbed my backpack and leapt down the steps to the kitchen.

Jasper was leaning against the counter, coffee mug in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. He had small kitten-like scratches down his chest and a round blue bruise on his shoulder. His plaid pajamas bottoms were riding low enough for me to know he had naturally blonde hair, which made me shudder, but in all honesty, I was just happy he was wearing goddamn pants. Living with Jasper meant ruefully accepting his frequent and unabashed nudity, as well as ignoring his tendency to hold conversations with me while I was in the shower. If it weren't for the weekend sex marathons with his particularly vocal girlfriend, I would still be operating under the assumption that he was gay.

In time, however, I learned that that was just Jasper. He would always look and act like he belonged with the hippie hemp kids at Ithaca College rather than the collar-popping frat brothers at Cornell. For this, I was grateful. Within the first few months of my freshman year, Jasper brought me out of my conservative shell, breaking me of the upper-class misconceptions that had been instilled in me since birth. I was also grateful that Jasper's "hillbilly behavior" offended my mother because that meant they never came to visit me at school.

"Bagel," he said, shaking the bag.

"Thanks, Mom!" I snatched it out of his hand. "Tell Alice hi for me," I smirked, nodding to her handiwork.

I sprinted and checked my watch, two minutes past. Fuck it. Today was not going to be my day.

Later that night, after going through an entire day of classes without a shower, I found myself in the weight room doing sets of power cleans and hang cleans with Emmett. Mike was spotting Jacob on bench press and they were discussing the previous weekend. And by discussing, I mean flaunting, loudly.

"How did it go with Stephanie?" Mike asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"How did you think it went, man?" Jacob scoffed.

"Probably not as well as my Saturday night with Jillian, this chick liked it a little rough." He turned his back to Jacob and lifted up his shirt, red scratches ran down the length of his back and small crescent scars dotted his shoulders. It looked painful, not at all like the battle scars Alice left Jasper with.

"Not bad my friend, but Steph, well, let's just say she liked it dirty, rough, and from behind." They both laughed. It was always a pissing contest between the two of them.

"So listen," Mike began, "This weekend, I was thinking of welcoming Bella to our team properly, if you know what I mean." Again, he wiggled his eyebrows. Mike was staking his claim early and given the uncomfortable grimace on Jacob's face, he wasn't too happy about it.

Every Saturday night, some varsity member of the team hosted a party, where we could celebrate victories or drown losses. We worked hard during the week and partied even harder Saturday nights, the only time where could have some semblance of a normal college experience.

Crew parties were notorious for free-flowing liquor and lasting until sunrise on Sunday. They were also a fucking gold mine for hookups. If the men and women's crew team were one big happy family, then we were incestuous and horny as fucking jackrabbits. However, the one thing you did not want was someone's sloppy seconds.

Before Jacob could respond, Bella walked into the weight room, followed shortly by Rosalie. "Hey guys!" Bella announced.

"Bella!" Mike and Jacob simultaneously yelled, both of them stepping forward to greet her. Jacob reached her first and picked her up for a hug that lifted her several inches off the ground. He held onto her a few moments past uncomfortable until she slyly wiggled out of his grasp.

"Well that was fucking awkward," Emmett commented as Mike took his turn hugging her. They dragged her over to where they were working out and proceeded to add weight onto the bar, before Jacob settled beneath it to do quick reps, while Mike spoke to her animatedly.

Rosalie bypassed the masculine displays to set herself up on one of the available bench presses. She was wearing ratty grey sweatpants that hung low over red spandex. A tight tank showcased her slim waist and flaring hips. When she lay beneath the bar, we were treated to a nice view down her shirt, into the valley of her cleavage.

I nudged Emmett, "Just go talk to her, pussy."

"Shut up, man." He shoved me back, "Finish your fucking set." Emmett and I continued our workout and I threw myself into it. Sweat dotted my forehead as I finished, settling the bar back in its holds and putting the weights away. Bella was still engaged with the two douche bags that were currently comparing their biceps, flexing them in front of mirrors and encouraging Bella to feel them and determine whose was bigger.

"Sooner or later one of them is going to piss on her to mark their territory," I said to Emmett. He let out a big belly laugh that caused everyone to look over. Bella saw us and walked over, a small smile of relief on her face.

"Hey, Emmett! Captain." She nodded her head in my direction after her less than enthusiastic greeting.

"Bella! Here to spot me?" Emmett asked, walking over to the bench press next to Rosalie and adding fifty-pound weights on each side of the bar.

"I don't think I would be of much assistance, Em. Anyways, I'm here with Rosalie," she waved the statuesque blonde over. "We used to row together. Do you all know each other?"

I let out a small laugh, but covered it with a cough when Emmett glared at me.

"No, I don't think we've met," I interjected. "I'm Edward, and this is Emmett." I stuck my hand out and Rosalie gripped mine tightly before grabbing Emmett's outstretched palm. He just stared dumbly, not making any attempt at conversation.

"Funny how that is," I mused, breaking the sliver of silence.

"What is?" Rosalie questioned, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"That we've never run into one another before, despite us being on the same team, probably at the same parties."

"I suppose we run in different circles."

"Well, hopefully we can join circles this weekend? Emmett here is throwing this weekends celebration."

"Maybe," Rosalie shrugged and turned away with a soft grin. Bella stood open-mouthed for a few seconds before bidding Emmett a curt goodnight and walking away.

"Dude! What the fuck was that?" Emmett asked incredulously once they were out of earshot.

"I was laying the groundwork for you friend. You didn't really look like you were capable of forming a damn sentence and now she's coming to your house on Saturday night. You're welcome." He thought about it for a second and when he decided I wasn't flirting with Rosalie right in front of his face, he began nodding up and down, a smirk slowly pushing up his cheeks.

"Nice," he said, lengthening out the last syllable.

"As I said, you're welcome. Now let's finish up, I need to get some fucking work done." A half hour later, our muscles sore and pulsing, Emmett and I walked towards the locker rooms to collect our keys and jackets.

"So it's pretty obvious, you don't like Bella," Emmett began.

I groaned. I was getting fucking tired of talking about this girl. Before I could refute his observation, he suggested I try to be nicer to her.

"I was being nice!" I protested as he disapprovingly shook his head.

"You didn't say a fucking word to her."

"Listen," I deadpanned, "I'm sure she's a great person, really, but I just don't care."

"That's harsh, man, stop being so fucking petty. So we lost Seth, this shit happens. We don't want you distracted Saturday because you fucking hate our coxswain. So try, okay? For the team?" he pleaded, "I think you'll be surprised, she's really cool."

"So I've heard." I rolled my eyes. It seems everyone, apart from me, was infatuated with this girl.

By Thursday, most of the team had gotten used to Bella and responded positively to all the new commands and power tens she added to our race plan. Our starts were still a little shaky, but each row felt good, and even Carlisle expressed his approval, alluding to a potential win on Saturday.

I was still skeptical, but had made attempts to be civil. Apparently that wasn't good enough; Carlisle perpetually giving me the evil eye and Emmett shaking his head anytime I failed in conversation. Mike and Jacob were much friendlier, talking to Bella in the boathouse before and after practice, even offering her rides back to campus. But then again, they were both hoping to get in her pants this weekend.

Thursday night came by quickly and since I had a relatively easy day of classes, slipping in a small nap between lunch and an afternoon lab, I decided to hit the gym for some arm exercises on the erg and a run. I walked to our training facility on lower campus and was surprised to find Bella there, working out on an erg.

She was wearing a nearly sheer, white wife beater over a bright blue sports bra. Her thick brown hair was tied up, but thin strands had escaped and were plastered to her neck. Her form was rigid and a bit sloppy, and I wondered if she was pushing through her injury. Her shoulders and arms were especially tense, slender muscles flexing and contracting, and deceivingly strong. I casually walked behind her, noting her split time was down at 1:55 and she was holding it for a 5k.

I wouldn't admit it out loud, but I was impressed. Coxswains were normally all skin and bones and completely uncoordinated when it came to actually rowing a boat.

I sat on an erg to her left and strapped my feet in. Her music was deafeningly loud. I could hear it perfectly clear from three feet away. I listened to the lyrics of Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Torture Me" and laughed at the irony as I picked up the erg handle and began a slow warm up. Sometimes this did feel like torture.

After a quick 2k, I picked up the pace, alternating 500-meter sprints with thirty-seconds of paddling. Bella's music got louder and faster as her pace quickened—_Come on_ _everybody get loose tonight, throw a hand in the air if ya feelin' alright_—she was listening to techno. I chuckled, recognizing the song from a movie.

Looking over, I saw her absorbed in the split average on her screen, bringing it down with each stroke, like she was challenging me, proving something. Her cheeks were splotched red with exertion and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face and dripped onto her chest. I followed its path, absorbed in the fluid movement of her body, her erratic breathing, the strong kick of her muscular legs. She was pushing herself to the limit. It was refreshing to see a female that wasn't concerned with sweating in public. She was makeup free and a bit frazzled, but she looked beautiful and powerful.

With a big huff, she finished her workout, releasing the handle so it recoiled and slapped the machine. Her last stroke clocked in at 1:42/500m.

"Are you going to stare all night, Cullen, or are you going to finish your workout?" She had pulled out her headphones and was greedily gulping water. Turning my attention back, I finished one last sprint, a smug expression on my face when I read the time on my screen—1:23. Not a personal best, but enough to shut Bella up.

"Impressed?" I asked when I saw her gaping.

"Hardly. Come on, Captain, let's go for a run. If that's all you're pulling these days, Harvard is going to drown us in their wake and I really don't want to be PBL-ed this weekend."

"We aren't going to be passed by the fucking launch." If you were losing by more than two hundred meters, the motorboat following the race would pass you to catch up with the rest of the boats to make sure they kept within their racing lanes. It was every rower's worst nightmare; if humiliation didn't kill you, your coach would.

She laughed in my face, "You actually look worried! I was just kidding around. Lighten up, Edward."

I growled a bit, weary of spending time with her. I didn't want to like her, but I owed it to the team to try, and Emmett insisted I make an effort. "Come on, I've got a trail I normally run. It's six miles or so. Is that okay?" I asked.

"Sure, let's go." We started jogging as soon as we exited the training facility, falling into an easy rhythm. Our arms skimmed at one point, the lightest of touches, but still caused my arm hair to stand on end, like she was static electricity. Bella moved away quickly, and we both pretended like nothing happened.

I was surprised that she kept up, matching me stride for stride despite our six-inch height difference. Our breathing was in synch and the crisp Ithaca air chilled the sweat dripping down my neck.

We didn't speak at all and instead of taking in the view around me, I inspected her running form. Bella was elegant when she ran; it looked like she was taking small leaps on the tips of her toes, barely touching the ground before she was midair again.

At the three-mile marker, we turned around and headed back the way we came. The trail was dark, lit every fifty feet or so. The trees surrounding us were in the awkward stage between winter and spring, tightly wound green buds littered the stark branches, unsure whether they should unfurl or wait for warmer weather.

When we reached campus again, it was bustling with activity. We weaved around groups of drunk and stupid freshmen; they always traveled in hoards, something about safety in numbers. Finally, we made it to west campus, nearing the last half-mile.

"Race you," I nodded towards the incline leading to the athletic building. She took off without answering, her arms pumping and her stride lengthening. As I struggled to catch up, I stared at her ass, seductively swaying in tight, short spandex. Since I was distracted, she finished before me, her arms up in the air like Rocky, celebrating her triumph as she waited for me to catch up.

"Shit," I wheezed, "You're fucking fast."

"I know." She gave me a mega-watt smile that scrunched her eyes closed. Then continued doing a small victory lap around my hunched over form.

"Do you run a lot?" I asked, my lungs finally functioning normally.

"Yeah, I have to stay slim for you fools. Plus, Carlisle wants me to lose five more pounds."

"Have you lost a lot of weight since fall season?"

"Tsk, tsk, Cullen. You're not supposed to ask a girl about her weight." She didn't really look offended.

"No, I wasn't—I meant—"

"I know what you meant, and yes I did. I lost a bunch of muscle as soon as I stopped practicing and weightlifting, but also, I stopped eating like a rower." She shrugged as though dropping twenty pounds in four months was no big deal.

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what? Eating anything I wanted, and then some? Hell yes."

"No, rowing."

"Of course, I do. It was my life for two years. Wouldn't you miss it?"

"Sometimes I don't know if I would." We started stretching and curiosity got the better of me, "What happened?"

She sighed, as though reliving her injury was unbearable. "I've had back problems my whole life, but the pain was always manageable. Last year, it got progressively worse. I spent more time in the training room with E-stim and ice than I did practicing. Eventually I went to the doctor, got an MRI and voila! Herniated disc combined with mild scoliosis. Apparently rowing would aggravate it, so I decided to quit while I was ahead and start coxing. End of story."

"Doesn't erging bother it?"

"A little, but I can't just go cold turkey." Her attitude surprised me. I had anticipated bitterness, perhaps even frustration, but not acceptance.

"Is that why you decided to cox?"

"I guess so. I cox-ed some in high school before I had this huge growth spurt and was recruited. Plus, all my friends are on the team and quitting would give me way too much free time."

"Oh yes, because free time would be so horrible."

"It would be horrendous. I could actually get a full night of sleep!"

"Blasphemy!" We both started laughing, like two crazy, sleep-deprived masochists.

"Alright Captain, I'm gonna do some yoga. Wanna join?" I visibly flinched at the thought of doing yoga; I had horrible flexibility and balance. I'd just end up embarrassing myself.

"I'll pass. See you tomorrow morning."

"Later." She gave a small wave and disappeared inside. On my walk home, I decided that Bella was generally an okay person; maybe we would end up friends after the season. She was funny and likeable, but she still needed to prove herself Saturday morning.

It was a sunny and cloudless Saturday morning and my hands were fucking shaking. We were at the start line, oars buried, at half slide, tense and ready for the countdown. We were in between Harvard's A and B boats, Carlisle called it "strategic positioning," but I thought we were fucked.

The official, standing in the launch that would follow our race, lifted his left arm, pointing the starting gun towards the sky. Emotionlessly, he said, "All hands are down. This is the start for varsity men's heavyweight. Three…Two…One." The start gun exploded and we were off.

"Half slide! Quarter! Quarter! Half! Three quarter! Lengthen! And full!" Bella yelled, her voice dropping several octaves and becoming harsher, grittier. "Ten at rate 42! Come on, let's hit that 42! 41—42! Nice, One…Two…" and on she counted, taking us through our starting sequence and then leveling us out to our race pace at a strong thirty-four.

Adrenaline was pumping and deep breaths did nothing to still my accelerated heartbeat. I ignored every impulse and urging I had to look to my left and see where we were compared to Harvard. I stared straight ahead at the back of Jacob's head and when he was at the catch, leaning port, I could see Bella in all her fierce concentration and vigor. She was actively surveying our boat's placement, calling out the end of the first five hundred meters and her now infamous "press set" ten.

Harvard had managed to pull ahead two seats by the thousand-meter mark. Their lead was not substantial, but fear and self-doubt bubbled beneath the surface, ruining my concentration. I heard Carlisle's nagging voice, reprimanding and criticizing—_you are not good enough_. Slowly, I began to let the full body exhaustion and fatigue pull me under, both mentally and physically, until her voice broke through my haze calling out the last five hundred meters.

My body protested, knowing that our final sprint was approaching. I missed water on the next stroke causing the balance to tilt starboard, cutting down our momentum as feathered oars slapped and rebounded off the water's surface. I heard a curse from behind me and knew that it was my fault, a small mistake that could cost us a second or two. That was a lifetime in these races. I couldn't apologize out loud, so I did it the only way I could. I pulled harder, with everything I had, and everything my body would give.

My puddles had whitecaps on them when Bella announced the first ten strokes of our sprint, the last three hundred meters. I pulled even more, utilizing the momentum of a strong kick to crank in my oar, harder and faster.

With less than one hundred meters left, we were four seats down on Harvard, our bow ball between their third and fourth seat. My throat closed, entirely drained of fluids, I felt nastily dehydrated. Sand coursed in my mouth and lungs when I heard the Harvard coxswain yelling, "Where did you go bow pair?"

Bella seized this opportunity, a psychological advantage and yelled, "Let's show them where we are bow pair!"

I could feel the weight of the boat lighten immediately with each determined stroke, elevating the bow out of the water and increasing our run.

"We're on their four seat…three seat. Keep moving me up men! One seat each stroke!" Bella encouraged. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw that I was aligned with their six seat. We were ahead on the last five strokes.

"Bring me past the finish line!" Bella said, excitement in her voice. We passed the buoy indicating the finish and the most beautiful word rattled through the boat's speakers, "Paddle!" I collapsed backwards as I heard yells from the rest of my team.

All I felt was relief.

The past six minutes were slowly fading away, becoming blotched and hazy memories. I couldn't remember what Bella said to us; her words, the shallow gulps of collapsing lungs, and the piercing pain of overexertion. It never existed.

By tonight, I would not remember the struggle, just the glory of the win.

For now, all I could feel was the sun warming my flesh. My mind was heavy, but empty. Numbness pervaded.

We docked quickly, freshmen rowers coming to collect our oars and offer their congratulations. Carlisle stood by our team tent, expressionless, waiting for us to put the boat on stretchers to de-rig later. We huddled around, all of us guzzling water as though our lives depended on it.

Carlisle began, "Great work out there team, I think we can all agree that Bella did phenomenally, correct?" He eyed me specifically and that was when I tuned out.

Bella stood beside Emmett, wrapped in long sleeve spandex, a red bodysuit that hugged all her curves. She had a wide smile and her cheeks turned red as Carlisle kept complimenting her, finding a way to cement our team together as one. When he finally stopped jabbering, we had a small team cheer and I caught the eye of Emmett and Tyler, subtly nodding towards Bella.

They understood and soon we had Bella up in the air, our hands clasping ankles, wrists, and waist as we dragged her towards the loading dock. She protested little, only squeaking out small peals of laughter. She knew full well that this was a tradition and you just don't fuck with tradition.

When we reached the end of the dock, I grabbed her ankles and Tyler grabbed her wrists. Dangling her down, we swung her back and forth before launching her ten feet into the air. Her body cannon-balled into the cold lake water and she resurfaced seconds later, a hand plugging her nose and the other swiping wet hair off her face.

"Holy fuck!" she yelled, as she swam to the dock, "It's freezing in here. Help me up!" She extended her hand towards me and I rolled my eyes, but walked to the dock edge and bent over to help her. She grabbed my hand, hers slippery and cold in mine and tugged…hard.

I went feet over head into the water, landing just behind her with a splash and arms flailing. I surfaced, spitting nasty lake water out of my mouth and saw the entire team busting a nut laughing at me.

"You're gonna regret that," I pointed to Bella who was sporting an innocent expression on her face. She was failing to hold in her laughter, chuckling behind closed lips. I swam up to her and grabbed her by the waist and chucked her away from the dock she was unsuccessfully trying to climb.

My teeth started chattering, the cold water piercing my skin and cramping my un-stretched muscles. I lifted myself up and out of the water, and waited dockside for Bella to swim back over. She lifted her hand up again and I shook my head, laughing.

"You're on your own." She stuck her bottom lip out, forming a pretty convincing pout, but I wasn't falling for the innocent act this time.

She clambered up onto the dock, her red spandex now even more revealing when wet. Her nipples were hard and pushing against the constraining fabric. I wasn't subtle in my perusal and my spandex uni did nothing to cover up my appreciation, but thankfully she didn't seem to notice, instead graciously accepting a towel from Mike, who brushed his hands up and down her arms in attempts to warm her.

For the rest of the day, as everyone cheered on our fellow teammates, screaming from the shore, I was painfully aware of Bella. My eyes seemed to peer in her direction and every time she was accompanied by either Jacob or Mike. I didn't like it.

I imagined breaking off Jacob's fingers, when I saw him playfully tug on the first place medal that hung around Bella's neck.

Then I imagined Bella wearing nothing but the medal and a sassy grin meant only for me.

I groaned as my body reacted to the new visual. It had been too damn long since I'd been with anybody. I counted in my head…fuck, five months. That had to be why Bella was affecting me in this way. The last one-night stand I had resulted in an uncomfortable morning. The chick, I think her name was Eliza, adamantly refused to walk home alone and awkwardly kept the shirt I lent her to sleep in. Needless to say, after I accompanied her across campus, I didn't ask for her number.

I resolved to end my unnaturally long dry spell this evening, maybe with one of the freshmen. They seemed untainted…for the most part. I mentally ran through the women's roster, noting several prospects, including a sexy transfer student named Haley who had fine ass, and April, a bite-size coxswain who expressed an interest earlier this semester. Ultimately, it would come down to which one was most sober because the one thing I prided myself on was hooking up with lucid and active participants.

On the long ride home, the high of victory had worn off; the adrenaline that brought us to the finish line waylaid by exhaustion from the early morning and anxiety. All across the coach bus everyone was asleep…except me. I was wide-awake and bored shitless. I had set my iPod to my "Sleep" playlist, hoping the mellow and soothing tones would lull me to sleep, but it proved useless. I sighed and started scrolling through my song library for something more exciting when Bella plopped down next to me.

"What are you listening to?" she asked, her own iPod clutched in her hand.

"Jose Gonzalez." I was a little embarrassed to admit that, but assumed that she wouldn't have any idea who he was. I was wrong.

"Oh! I love him! Especially 'Heartbeats,' have you seen the Youtube video?"

"The Sony commercial?" She nodded. "Yeah I have."

"Isn't it amazing? It changed my life." I raised an eyebrow at her exaggerated confession.

"Okay, so it didn't really change my life, but it's still really cool," she corrected.

I chuckled, "I agree. What are you listening to?"

"Whitesnake."

"Why?" I asked, flabbergasted that anyone would admit to listening to eighties hair metal.

"Oh, stop judging me, Cullen. They're not _that_ bad, here, listen." She handed me one of her ear buds and crooned along with the chorus. I laughed at her enthusiasm and scrolled through my song library to find any embarrassing eighties music I had.

For the next two hours, we traded iPods, picking out music for one another and arguing as our tastes clashed. Normally I hated when people pilfered through my music selections because I always felt like I was being judged for having Katy Perry alongside The Smashing Pumpkins. My music taste varied from rock to rap and funk to blues. I wasn't necessarily ashamed, but I had learnt early on in my adolescent years that people operated under presumptions based on my parent's wealth, expecting me to conform to their social standards.

Surprisingly though, Bella seemed good-natured in her teasing and expressed a genuine interest in trading music sometime. She returned to her seat as people started to rouse, but not before asking directions to the party tonight.

We made progress…Emmett would be proud.

Nine shot glasses were raised in the air, clattering and spilling as people fumbled around getting chasers. It was ten o'clock Saturday night and the party at Emmett's off campus house had just begun. Our entire team was squished into the small kitchen, away from the loud, pulsing music.

"I'd like to dedicate this round to Bella," Emmett began.

"To Bella!" We all shouted prematurely.

"And walking through boats!" Paul added.

"Press set tens!" Jacob yelled, spilling half his shot as he thrust his hips.

"To fucking winning" I supplied.

"And showing up Harvard," Bella peeped.

"Fuck yeah!" Mike yelled, "Let's start drinking!" We clinked our shot glasses together and threw them back. I relished in the familiar burn, knowing that all too soon my sore muscles would be wholly forgotten and numb, loose like I just had an hour-long massage.

With the stress of practice and studying on the backburner, it was time to loosen up and have some fucking fun. I was in a good mood, April and Haley walked in earlier. Plus, I was looking forward to the awkwardness that would surely ensue when both Mike and Jacob started making a move on Bella. Seeing as they both couldn't keep their eyes off of her, I decided to fuck with them a bit.

Leaning down, I whispered in Bella's ear, "Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, Captain," she nudged me with her hip and I gave her a broad smile.

Our short and friendly interaction did not go unnoticed like I had hoped. Jacob sneered like a wolf claiming his property and Mike blanched as Paul linked arms with Bella, dragging her towards the living room to dance. They didn't have to worry about Paul though. He had a small, albeit secret, fling going on with our old coxswain Seth.

But as for the others in the boat, with the exception of pussy-whipped Emmett, well, they were all gunning for one thing tonight, Bella.

That's what I meant when I said welcome to the team—someone would be taking her home tonight, it was almost a rite of passage to have an embarrassing hook up. The gossip would spread around the boathouse on Monday. We were like a fucking sorority with that shit.

"What are you doing man? I thought you weren't interested." Emmett handed me a beer.

I shrugged. "I was just being polite. We're friends now," I admitted hesitantly.

"And you thought you could piss off Jake in the process," he corrected.

"You know me too well."

An hour later, I heard someone call my name while I was in the middle of a beer pong game with Emmett and some underclassmen. A flushed Bella sauntered towards me having been propelled forward by a devious looking Paul.

"Yes, Bella?"

"Come here." She crooked her finger at me and winked.

I gave a shrug to Emmett and walked over, putting aside my empty bottle on the kitchen counter. She moved unbelievably close, only inches away from my face and I thought she was going to reach up and kiss me. I hadn't noticed before, but she had a small spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks.

"Do you mind explaining to me" She began, shyly toeing the carpet, "what the fuck you were thinking complaining to Carlisle about me?" She screamed the last part, her voice cracking, still sore from today's race.

I was speechless. Getting to know Bella this past week combined with her performance today…well, it made me regret my petty actions. I glanced up and noticed Paul barely containing his guffaws.

"Are you that cowardly?" she accused. By this time, we had gathered quite an audience so I grabbed her wrist and wrenched her upstairs away from the nosy crowd.

"What the fuck, Edward!" Bella complained, tripping up the stairs as I led her into Emmett's bedroom. "Let go of me!" She wretched her arm out of my grasp, gently massaging the wrist I held easily in my fist.

"Bella, I'm sorry."

"For what?" she spat, not letting me off the hook that easily.

"For starters, hurting your wrist, let me see it." I gently pried her arm away from her warm body and tenderly stroked the inflamed skin. She gasped when I brought it up to my lips and planted a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.

"Yeah, yeah, charmer, what else have you to say for yourself?" I chuckled; she was always on the defensive.

"You're a ball breaker, you know that right?"

"Well, you're a dick, so we'd make great friends." She flashed me a smile that had too much teeth and absolutely no sincerity.

"Listen, I'm sorry about Carlisle. But you need to understand this from my point of view. He pulled this last-minute switch that could have messed with our—"

"And did it?" she interrupted, looking even more pissed off than before.

"No, it didn't, but let me finish." She made a zipping noise as she pulled her fingers across her mouth and then "threw away the key."

"Funny." She quirked an eyebrow at me to continue, "I'm sorry for being a dick and not trusting you. But I'll have you know that Carlisle was quite a fan of you. He didn't listen to anything I was saying."

"You're damn right he didn't because he knows I'm fantastic."

"Oh yeah?" It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and before I accept your gracious apology, that's what I want to hear."

"You want to hear how good you are?"

"Yes," she asserted, running her tongue across her bottom lip.

"Bella, you were phenomenal today. You blew my mind—"

She interrupted my lame compliments with a firm hand on my chest, "Feeble attempt there, Captain. Let's try for more sincerity and less sarcasm, shall we? Again."

I didn't know what to say, so I spoke the truth. "You're infuriating."

"That's not a compliment."

"Not in the way you're thinking…you challenge me when no one else will. You keep me on my feet, constantly surprising me. It's frustrating as all hell, because I can never pin you down. I never know what you're thinking or what you'll say next. And it's addicting, but, as I said, infuriating."

Silence echoed in Emmett's room as I finished and I was afraid I had said too much, "Shit, I'm sor—" She cut off my apology by crushing her full lips into mine, all sticky and sweet. She was warm and wet and I responded in kind, grabbing a fist full of her hair and pushing her lower body to curve into mine.

She bit my lower lip, capturing it between her teeth and tugging. It verged on the precipice of pleasure and pain before she released it, dipping her tongue out to gently lick the teeth marks she left behind.

Bella felt strong and capable in my arms, her muscular thigh nudged mine apart, her heated center seeking friction against my denim. She was aggressive, and I liked it. My jeans tightened as I pressed into her, reveling in the warmth of her skin and the fire her caressing hands left behind.

Her eager tongue sought entrance into my mouth and all I could taste was spiced rum. I pushed her away, "You're drunk." It was a statement, not a question.

We were both breathing deeply, our chests heaving, as my brain sought to catch up to this new development. Kissing and Bella. Drunk and sober. I was no better than Jacob or Mike, taking advantage of a drunken girl.

"Yes, I am drunk." She paused and took a step away from me and towards the door. "And you're still a dick." She walked out without another word, leaving me to my thoughts. What the fuck?

The rest of the weekend went by in a flood of homework and sleep. Bella was still heavy on my mind, distracting me without even being present. I had gone to the training facility on Sunday evening in hopes of finding her there, but to no avail.

I didn't even know what I was going to say to her.

I didn't know what I _wanted_ to say.

_I'm sorry for kissing you?_

But was I sorry? Not particularly.

As I lay in bed Sunday night, sleep evading me, I realized that I didn't know Bella. I had no idea where she lived on campus, what she was studying, or where her hometown was. All I knew was that after kissing me, Bella had immediately left the party with Jacob. I didn't like it.

Monday morning at the boathouse, Bella was mysteriously absent as we unloaded the trailer and re-assembled our boat. Rumors were abuzz about the Edward-Jacob-Bella love triangle thanks to Saturday night. According to one source, I had rejected Bella's come-on and from another, Bella had been using me to make Jacob jealous. It was all a bunch of bullshit, but like I said, we're no better than fucking sorority sisters.

Bella had been avoiding me and continued to do so, even at the boathouse for practice Monday afternoon. I had arrived half-hour early and found her teetering about, organizing her supplies and writing down the practice plan.

"Bella!" I yelled, hoping to get her attention. She walked out of the boathouse as though she hadn't heard a thing. I followed behind, rolling my eyes at the juvenile situation I found myself in. For three years I had managed to avoid boathouse rumors and scandal, yet just one week with Bella as our coxswain and suddenly, I'm drowning in them.

I yelled her name again. She turned around this time, a falsely genuine smile plastered on her face. She was a horrible fucking actress.

"What's up, Captain?" Her feigned ignorance didn't sit well with me and since she wasn't going to bring it up, I did.

"We need to talk."

"About what?" She always had to be a fucking challenge.

"Cut the shit, Bella. We need to talk about Saturday. You didn't let me—"

As per usual, she cut me off, "I get it, Cullen. You don't have to explain anything to me."

"I don't think you understand."

"No, I really do. You were letting me down nicely because you want Rosalie. I get it. Don't worry, Captain, there won't be any awkwardness." She finished with a meek smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder. She was pissing me off; her feigned indifference made me feel like a fucking girl, overanalyzing a simple kiss.

But it wasn't simple. Nothing with Bella ever seemed to be simple.

"First off, the name is Edward. Not Cullen and not Captain. Though I do like it when you call me Captain." I pushed her up against the side of the boathouse, pressing my body flush with hers as I caged her in with my arms.

"Secondly, I don't want Rosalie. I want you, and I will have you."

She finally met my eyes and her false flowery demeanor had been replaced with her normal provocative and fiery attitude, "What makes you think I want you?"

Instead of answering, I captured her lips and enjoyed a small moment of victory when she began kissing me back. She was hot and sweet and this time when I tasted her tongue in my mouth, there was no hint of liquor, just girl.

I pressed my body into hers, seeking some form of friction, but instead of being met with her warm curves, I felt layers of bulky fabric. I pressed my palm into what I thought was her hip, digging for a hint of her shape. I wanted more. I wanted her down to the skin-tight spandex, so I could rip them off her body.

She broke the kiss and moved her way toward my neck, sucking the taut skin below my ear. Chills erupted down my spine and I leaned into her ear, gently biting the lobe before saying, "How many fucking layers do you have on?"

She released my neck with a pop and answered, "Seven," before smashing her lips back into mine. My fingers worked on autopilot, pulling down layer after layer of sweatpants and track pants, tugging at drawstrings, and peeling down elastic waistbands, until I felt the undeniable texture of spandex. I brushed my hand up her stomach; searching for the top of her spandex, it wasn't until I groped her breast did I realize she was wearing a spandex uni. Fuck, there was no way I could get that off without stripping her completely.

I wedged my leg in between hers, my hard length pressing into juncture of her thigh, while my left hand cupped her breast, kneading the small handful. My ministrations earned a small moan of delight when I rubbed my thumb over her hardened nipple.

Bella became even more aggressive, shoving her hips back into mine, aligning her hot center with my undeniable hard-on. The sound of spandex rubbing against each other was at first distracting, but I was overwhelmed by how responsive she was, wrapping her leg around my waist to pull me in tighter.

"Harder," she whimpered. "I need to feel you."

"Fuck, Bella." I grew even harder; my ears buzzing and my body taut with need and want.

The sound of approaching vehicles broke through my lust-driven haze and I suddenly remembered our surroundings. We were against the boathouse, facing the water, and very visible to the restaurant on the opposite side of the inlet.

Bella looked confused, wondering aloud why my hands were stilled on her hips, intentionally putting distance between our bodies, until she heard Mike's boisterous laugh, then she froze.

"Fuck." I bent down and quickly pulled up all her pants that were bunched around her ankles.

"I got it! I got it!" she yelled, pushing away my fumbling hands, as she straightened out each layer and then attempted to cool off her flushed cheeks. I pressed my head against the boathouse, closing my eyes and willing my dick to calm the fuck down.

Bella was mumbling to herself as she paced, "This was so stupid. I'm such an idiot." I reached out an arm and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her towards me so she wouldn't run away again.

"Stop thinking so much." I cupped her jaw and placed a chaste kiss on her swollen lips. "I'm sorry we got interrupted," I said, brushing her mussed hair off her face. It felt natural being this affectionate with her.

"Me too," she whispered.

"Will you come over tonight?"

"You really want me to?"

I wasn't going to acknowledge her doubt, so I replied with a simple, "Yes."

"Okay," she acquiesced; suddenly shy, despite having dry-humped me two minutes ago. I would never understand her mood swings. One minute she was a seductress, bold and pugnacious; and the next, she retreated into herself, to become insecure and passive.

We walked into the boathouse together; a safe distance between us, but my body still reacted to her presence. From the waist-down, I was anxious for later and couldn't focus on much else, let alone practice and trying to keep my excitement discreet.

Carlisle summoned Bella over and she shot me quick glance before turning to leave. It was subtle enough that no one noticed apart from Emmett.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Um…Let's just say, we've worked out our differences." I smiled and he got the hidden meaning. He slapped me on the back and grinned.

"Attaboy, Captain. I told you she was cool."

"Shut up, man."

"So, you got to know her really well then, eh?" He raised an eyebrow, punctuating the double meaning of his question. He chuckled when I didn't reply and I breathed a sigh of relief when that was all the ribbing I received from him. Bella avoided me as we readied for practice, taking the boat out of the boathouse and collecting oars. I started to think she was regretting earlier, acting like the fucking girl that I am, until we began the first workout on the lake.

"Come on starboard side! I can't even feel you pushing! Harder…Harder…There we go! Keep up this intensity! Push it!" I caught Bella's eye and saw her wink at me. I fumbled at the catch and almost lost my oar.

Was she—?

No, she wouldn't. She's just motivating us, she's not referencing earlier—

"Push! Push! Come on, Captain, I don't think you're pressing hard enough! Press set!"

Okay, she was _definitely_ talking about earlier.

I gave her a wicked smile and she giggled in return. She was a feisty one and her simple commands were affecting me more than they should. I grimaced uncomfortably as my spandex fought against the sudden tension in my crotch and she laughed again, her chuckle echoing through the boat.

Strapped into the boat in the middle of Cayuga Lake, I was helpless to silence her really obvious innuendos. I had to endure her taunting for another two hours and pretend like she didn't drive me crazy. I didn't like her having the upper hand, but for now, I'd let her have her fun. Because later tonight, when I had her underneath me, stripped of the annoying layers that cockblocked me earlier; she wouldn't be making commands, she'd be begging.

* * *

**Things you must do:**

Watch this SONY Bravia commercial http:/www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=R_kLwQJUqYU

Thanks for reading!

This story is dedicated to my roommate, the only one who knows about and shares my unhealthy obsession with fanfiction—You complete me!

Many _many_ thanks to my beta, Sunsetwing.


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